Vengeance is Mine, Sayeth the Lord
by dietcocacola101
Summary: Kenny is dead. A sticky note on his chest has four names on it: Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman, Kenny McCormick. Kenny's name is crossed out. The other three are fair game. One question remains: who is singlehandedly destroying the boys' lives? Read and find out. Eventual Style.
1. Kenny (I)

**Kenny (I)**

I lifted my face up to bask in the spring air and let out a soft sigh. To say that this was the greatest day of my life was a huge understatement. Flowers were blooming, the sun was shining, and I was finally going to have my revenge on those four assholes.

Quite a few people in town disliked Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, and Kenny McCormick, and _everybody_ in town (save his mother) hated Eric Cartman, but their loathing was no match for mine.

Not even close.

Just the thought of those jackasses made my blood boil, but I kept my temper in check and continued walking down the road to my house. I pictured their tortured, sobbing faces in my head, the results of my plan, and this greatly improved my mood.

* * *

The inhabitants of South Park had suddenly become aware of his frequent deaths when he started middle school. Kenny didn't know if God was finally throwing him a bone or _what,_ but he didn't question the miracle. He was just grateful. He would never forget the first time he walked to the middle school bus stop and Stan and Kyle had been falling over each other in shock. Cartman, however, seemed unsurprised.

"Kenny, dude, what the _fuck?_" Stan cried, baffled.

Kenny raised one eyebrow at him. He had gotten pretty good at using just his eyes to show expression, since his mouth wasn't an option most of the time.

"You were dead! And now you're not!" Kyle deduced.

"Oh, _good work,_ Sherlock Holmes. Did you figure that out all by yourself?" Cartman asked with a sneer. Stan and Kyle both ignored him. Apparently Kenny being electrocuted yesterday and standing in front of them perfectly fine and 100% alive today was more important than Cartman. Kenny was flattered.

Once Kenny explained his deaths to Stan and Kyle (they didn't believe him until he had died and miraculously come back to life seven or eight more times), he stopped wearing his orange parka. He was starting to outgrow it, but that wasn't why he quit wearing it. It sounded sappy, but he gave it to his little sister because he had outgrown that part of his life where he died and no one noticed and he talked and no one noticed. He didn't feel like a prop any more.

Kenny wore a pair of worn-out blue jeans one size too big, a pair of boots one size too small, and an orange t-shirt (orange was his _color_) that fit just right. All three items of clothing had once belonged to his older brother, Kevin, so they all had stains and funky smells, but Kenny didn't mind. When you were as poor as Kenny was, stains and smells on your clothes were the least of your problems.

When Kenny entered middle school, he became painfully aware of two things: Bebe Stevens and theatre club. He became aware of the second thing on the list because of the first. While her best friend was student body president and captain of the volleyball team and who knew what else, Bebe was in charge of theatre. Kenny had reluctantly walked back into South Park Middle School after winter break and Bebe was standing by the door, handing out flyers for the spring musical.

"Stan! Kyle! Kenny!" She spat out each boy's name like a command and waved a flyer in front of their faces. "Would any of you be interested in the musical?" she asked and then added, "We're doing _Sweeney Todd,_" as if that might sway their decision.

"Uh, no thanks, Bebe," Stan declined politely.

"Yeah, the musical isn't really my thing," Kyle agreed.

"Ay! Why didn't you ask _me?_" Cartman rudely interrupted.

"Because I don't _want_ you in my musical! I won't let a fat turd like you ruin _my_ show!" she snapped, her eyes flaring dangerously.

"Fine! I don't want to be in your gay musical, anyway!" Cartman cried and shoved past her on his way inside. Stan and Kyle tried to sneak in after him but a sharp glare from Bebe kept them right where they were.

"Won't you _please_ consider it? It's so hard to find boys who want to be in the musical. If you show up to auditions, you're guaranteed to get a part!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Kyle muttered, and he and Stan snickered. Bebe put her hands on her hips, the flyers crinkling as she pressed them against her hip bone.

"Be careful, Stan, or I'll talk to Wendy and she'll _make_ you audition!"

"What are you yelling at me for? Kyle said it!" he cried. She ignored him. Bebe was still sweet on Kyle. She thought he had a nice ass.

"I'll do it," Kenny said and all three stared at him in disbelief. Bebe was the first to recover.

"You _will?_" she squealed.

"Sure," he said and held out his palm for a flyer. She slapped it into his hand and beamed at him.

"Auditions are tomorrow after school. _Don't be late,_" she instructed and turned her attention to a group of seventh graders coming up the front steps.

Stan and Kyle very obviously stared at Kenny. Kenny very obviously ignored them. Once he realized that he was being ignored, Kyle cleared his throat loudly, trying to bring the attention back to him. Kyle hated being ignored. Kenny continued to ignore the two of them and walked inside the school. Kyle cleared his throat again and said, "Since when are you into plays, Ken?"

"I'm not," Kenny replied, crumpling the flyer and shoving it in his pocket.

"Then why –?"

"I would do just about anything to feel Bebe's tits."

Stan and Kyle both snickered again and Kenny smiled to himself.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't caress those honkers like there was no tomorrow if you had the chance."

Stan sputtered some nonsense about Wendy's honkers being the only honkers for him (and then looked around in terror as if Wendy herself would jump out at him). Kyle, however, didn't object and his cheeks soon became as red as his hair. Kenny thought that Kyle was coming along nicely. Little did he know that in a few years' time, Kyle would be humping any willing guy or girl all summer long at Jewish camp.

When Kenny showed up for auditions after school the next day, he saw that Bebe had roped in quite a few other guys. Butters, Tweek, Clyde, and Kevin Stoley were among them.

"H-hey there, Kenny. Are you lost?" Butters chirped.

"Nah, I'm not lost. I'm here to audition."

"Me too," Butters admitted, wringing his hands. "Bebe asked me to, and my parents said that if I don't do a school activity this year, they'll ground me!"

"That blows," Kenny said and dropped into the seat next to Butters in the auditorium.

"Why are you auditioning, Kenny?" Butters asked innocently. Kenny was once again reminded of the perks of being friends with someone who _wasn't_ Cartman. Butters's innocent question was most likely that – innocent. He wasn't plotting against him or trying to find a way to screw him over.

He considered telling him the truth, but feared that Butters wouldn't be able to handle it. Instead, Kenny said dramatically, "I'm here because of my love for the _theatre._"

"Very good, Kenny!" Bebe squealed from behind him and pointed to the rest of the boys. "You could all be a little more enthusiastic!"

"Don't tell my parents, Bebe! They'll ground me!"

"Gah! Too much pressure!"

"Aw, loosen up, Bebe. It's just a stupid play."

Bebe went from cute and sweet to bitchy and dangerous in about 0.5 seconds. She rounded on Clyde and reminded him to never,_ ever_ talk about her play like that again and was that _understood?_

"Yeah, man, I-I understand! Just back off, yeah?" Clyde stammered nervously.

Kenny was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. Bebe had large tits, yeah, but it wouldn't really matter if she was a raving lunatic. However, Bebe called him up to the stage before he could change his mind. Only when Kenny was standing on the stage with everyone's eyes on him did he realize that he didn't have a script or anything.

"Um, what do I do?" he wondered aloud.

"Sing for me," Bebe said, a clipboard in her lap and her pink pen poised over a sheet of notebook paper. A group of eighth grade girls looked at her resentfully. Everyone knew that Bebe was only in charge of the theatre because Wendy, student body president, had made it so, but, a far as those eighth grade girls were concerned, just because a measly sixth grader outranked them didn't mean they had to _like_ it.

"Sing?" Kenny asked, baffled.

"Well, this _is_ a musical. So, yes, sing for me."

"Shouldn't I read some lines or something?"

Bebe waved her hand in the air, dismissing the idea. "Any idiot can memorize a few lines. I need to know if you can sing." Kenny stared at her. Bebe clucked her tongue impatiently. "Any day now, Kenny."

"What should I sing?"

"Anything you want."

Kenny cleared his throat and began to sing: "_Settle down with me and cover me up, cuddle me in. Lie down with me and hold me in your arms. And your heart's against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck. And I'm falling for your eyes, but they don't know me yet. And with this feeling, I'll forget, I'm in love now. Kiss me –_"

"PERFECT!" Bebe practically screamed, making Kenny jump. He frowned in displeasure. She hadn't even let him get to the chorus. However, he _was_ pleased to announce that Bebe and every girl was swooning over him. He knew he had picked a good song – girls were suckers for Ed Sheeran.

Kenny got the lead in the musical that year. He hadn't really been surprised. From the way Bebe had been looking at him during his audition, he would have been surprised if he had gotten anything less.

Something _did_ surprise Kenny that year, though. Doing the musical had been…fun. He, Kenny McCormick, had been a part of a musical and enjoyed it. Kenny auditioned the next year by singing Five for Fighting's "Jainy" and the next year with Rise Against's "Hero of War". He got the lead both years.

And, somehow, the news had leaked out in his eighth grade year and when he stepped onstage in his ridiculous costume, Stan and Kyle were sitting front row. Kenny paled. It took him a second or two to compose himself, but he never broke character and he never missed a beat. He made sure not to make eye contact with his two friends for the entire first half of the play, but when the curtains began to close for intermission, he heard Stan and Kyle hooting and cheering and fucking going wild.

"Way to go, Kenny!" Kyle yelled.

"GO KENNY! YOU FUCKING RULE, MAN!" Stan bellowed.

After he was sure that his friends weren't going to tease him maliciously about the play, Kenny felt more relaxed. He performed better in the second half and Stan and Kyle met up with him after the show.

"Why didn't you _tell_ us you were doing the musical again? I thought you quit after sixth grade!" Kyle cried.

"Yeah! I had to find out from Wendy that my friend is going to be in the play. What's up with that?" Stan wondered.

Kenny just shrugged. He clearly remembered Stan's and Kyle's absence from his sixth grade show; the one they had known about, so he didn't know why they were upset. Cartman had gone to his sixth grade show. He had pelted the actors with popcorn and very vocally declared that the entire production was "the faggiest thing he had ever seen" until he was escorted out of the auditorium…but still.

Stan and Kyle swore to him that they would come to every single one of his plays and when Kenny asked why, they said it was because that's just what friends did for each other. Funny, Kenny couldn't remember ever going to one of Kyle's basketball games or Stan's band practices. Maybe he hadn't given Stan and Kyle enough credit. They could be fairly good friends to him when they weren't too busy doting on each other.

Kenny almost forgot to mention that he and Bebe had hooked up every year after their show. Well, okay, they hadn't _hooked up_ hooked up, but they had made out and Kenny groped her boobs in the utility closet. That was about as close to hooking up as any middle schooler could get, and, in Kenny's very humble opinion, it was pretty damn impressive.

He wasn't sure what it was about opening night that made Bebe so horny. Maybe she had wanted to jump his bones all spring but didn't want to distract him from the play and now it was here and she just couldn't contain herself any longer. Maybe it was the lights and applause and the image of her and Kenny up on the stage together, stealing the show that got her off. Maybe she just couldn't resist his charm and good looks. Who knew? He didn't question it, though. Kenny McCormick doesn't question good things, he just takes them and runs with them.

Then Kenny entered his first year of high school, where our story takes place, and he suddenly became aware of _competition._ Sophomores, juniors, and seniors that had been doing theatre longer than he had. Each day as auditions for the fall musical got closer (high school did two shows a year, opposed to the middle school's one) he was reminded of upperclassmen who were so much more talented than him.

All the worrying made him antsy. It made him smoke more cigarettes. So much for quitting.

Bebe was always nagging him to quit smoking. He didn't see the point. What was the worst thing that could happen? Bebe said he could die from lung cancer. Ha. That was a laugh.

Kenny had started smoking in seventh grade. His parents hadn't paid the water bill _again_ and he was in desperate need of a shower. So, he made the money himself by doing the only thing, besides acting, that he was good at: playing cards.

About once a week, a few high school kids would get together and play poker in the basement of Skeeter's Bar and Cocktails while their parents got piss drunk upstairs. Kenny had to take his brother, Kevin's, place when his stupid brother ran off with his new girlfriend (only to come slinking back a few weeks later). The other boys were older and they all smoked cigarettes. They offered him one and he took it (score one for peer pressure) and Kenny had been hooked ever since. Kenny supposed it was all for the best. Smoking had helped him fit in with the other guys and now they liked having him around more than Kevin, even if Kenny did take their money almost every week.

It was almost like having a real job, except he didn't hate it with a passion. He liked playing cards and he liked the guys he played with. Tommy Galliger was a junior who was dating Shelly Marsh. He didn't mind so much when she bossed him around as long as he got to feel her tits afterward (Shelly inherited nice boobs from her mother and was somewhat pleasant to look at now, but was still tough as nails and beat the hell out of Stan every once in a while). Tommy wasn't the brightest out of the bunch, but he told a lot of funny stories. Ray Brushaber (nicknamed Buttshaver) was the only guy who could give Kenny a run for his money and he knew it. Ray was cocky and irritated Kenny sometimes, but he gave Kenny his first beer, so he liked Ray all right. Mickey Nicholson and Ray were the only seniors and often made fun of Kenny for being a freshman. Mickey spent some time in juvie the same time as Cartman had and had been permanently scarred from the experience. He never revealed what happened, or rather what Cartman did to him, but he was always twitchy and nervous. Ray and Richard Everson had a good time scaring the hell out of him every week. Richard, a sophomore, was the only one in the group with a car and took pride in his POS. He was normally a pretty nice guy, but he got snappy when his car was insulted. Richard reminded Kenny a little of Kyle.

Kenny was playing a poker game near the end of his freshman year when the first "incident" happened. Kenny had been laughing along with the guys at a joke made at Mickey's expense, using the opportunity to look at Richard's cards. Kenny had only gotten a peek of the other boy's hand when a rock hurtled through the window and landed with a thud at their feet, taking several large shards of glass with it.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Mickey screamed, throwing his cards up in the air and clutching his hands to his chest.

"What the hell? This is a fucking _basement._ How does this place even have windows?" Tommy inquired. He gingerly picked up the rock.

"This place is all lopsided and shit. Someone must have fucked up while building it," Ray reasoned and then asked, "What's the note say?"

"Note?" Kenny asked. He took a second look at the rock and noticed a piece of paper tied to it with a rubber band. Tommy took off the rubber band and snapped Ray with it.

"Ow! Fucker!"

"The note's for you, Ken," Tommy said, handing the paper to Kenny.

"Me?" he asked. There were no words on this note. Just Kenny's ninth grade school picture glued to a piece of paper with Kenny's face crossed out.

"What the _fuck?_" Ray said exactly what Kenny was thinking.

"Jesus! Who did you piss off?" Richard asked upon seeing the note.

"I…have no idea," Kenny said. This much was true. He supposed it _could_ be Cartman, but he hadn't done anything to make the fat ass angrier at him than he always was. And, as much as Kenny hated to admit it, Cartman's revenge plots were much cleverer than this.

"Did you get your girlfriend pregnant?" Tommy asked.

"I don't have a girlfriend!" Kenny cried.

"Oh, so you got some other guy's girlfriend pregnant. That would explain the creepy death threat."

"Damn it! I didn't get _anybody_ pregnant!"

"Are you sure?"

"Shut up, Tommy."

Kenny fingered the note. Why should he be frightened of death when death was now merely a routine? But still, he would like to know who he had pissed off and how. He wasn't like Cartman, who was oblivious to the fact that everyone in town hated him. Kenny (somewhat) cared about what the townspeople thought of him. Until now, he had thought he was pretty well liked.

Kenny wasn't scared, but the whole incident _had_ unnerved him, so he went home pretty quickly after that, puzzling over who could hate him so much. He ran over possibilities in his head, but came up with nothing in the end. When Kenny arrived home, he ran through his lines to get his mind off it. In the fall musical, Kenny had been assigned to the goddamn _choir._ It was degrading and retarded and he deserved better. He could _perform_ better than that. So, for the auditions for the spring musical, Kenny had pulled out all the stops. He researched the musical they were going to do and filled his head with facts and trivia to impress the snobby upperclassmen, spent all of his free time mastering the song he was going to sing, and sucked up to Ms. Tiffadil, the head of the theatre department, by marveling over her outfits and insisting that she didn't look a day over twenty-five. The only person who had their nose farther up Ms. Tiffadil's ass than Kenny was Bebe, who had taken being assigned to choir much worse than Kenny had. Bebe spent weeks before spring auditions leaving apples, fetching coffee, running errands, and rearranging Ms. Tiffadil's classroom to the teacher's liking.

Even with all that sucking up, Kenny and Bebe had still only been assigned minor parts. Kenny didn't even have his own song. But still, Kenny was determined to play his part perfectly and prove to Ms. Tiffadil that not assigning him the lead role was a huge mistake on her part. Hopefully, not a mistake that she will make again. Kenny had memorized all his lines as well as every song in the play in case one of the leads couldn't perform for some reason and Ms. Tiffadil needed someone to jump in and save the day. All the leads had understudies, of course, but Kenny could get Cartman to lock said understudy in a bomb shelter if necessary.

That was what Kenny was dong in his room when he got home (he was rehearsing a song, not discussing theatre conspiracy tactics with Cartman). For a short while, Kenny lost himself in the song and forgot about the threat. But when the song was over, the note seemed to burn a hole in his pocket. He wasn't scared, just creeped out. Kenny stored his script underneath his pillow and crawled into bed himself, wrapping the scratchy covers tightly around himself. He dozed off to the smell of burnt food and the sound of his father's drunken slurs.

* * *

It happened the next day when Kenny was walking to the bus stop. He had been so preoccupied with wondering what it would be like to not eat waffles every morning and if Bebe would flirt with him at theatre practice that day (Bebe like to play hard-to-get, much to Kenny's dismay) to give anything else a second thought. The note had been completely driven from his mind, despite never having been removed from his pocket.

I lifted the shovel and brought it down hard on the back of Kenny's head. He cried out in pain and fell to his knees. I struck him again and he fell all the way to the ground this time. Kenny twisted his head around to get a look at his attacker, but I bashed him in the face with my shovel before he got the chance. Kenny yelled when his nose broke and blood squirted out of his nostrils. I wailed and wailed on him and he writhed and screamed on the ground until I struck the final blow and Kenny McCormick lie still.

The revenge plan never included murder, until I remembered Kenny's "condition". Kenny got off lucky, if I said so myself. He would come back perfectly fine tomorrow, without a trace of the beating I had just given him. And I would leave him along. Life would go on for him exactly the way it always had. The other wouldn't be so lucky.

I slung the shovel over my shoulder and continued along my way. I picked up the pace when I saw kids starting to leave their houses, backpacks in hand. Killing Kenny McCormick wasn't a crime, but strutting around town with a bloody shovel wasn't something you wanted to do if you wanted to keep a low profile, which I did. The whole point of my revenge plan was to keep my identity a secret.

I quickly walked through my front door and passed my mother on the way to the stairs. She called my name and caught up to me, looking alarmed. Her eyes widened even more when she saw the amount of blood on the shovel and my clothes.

"Oh, honey," my mother moaned. "What have you done?"

I shrugged my shoulders and flinched away from her when she reached out to touch my face.

"Kenny McCormick dies all the time. No one will miss him," I said and trudged up to my room. My mom followed me.

"I'm worried about you," she confessed and bit her lip as I threw the bloody shovel into my closet. I ignored her.

"I need to borrow your car," I informed her.

"You haven't been through driver's ed yet, hon," she said.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't need to. I know how to drive a fucking car."

My mother flinched and reminded me to watch my language.

"Whatever. So can I borrow the car? I just need it for one night and I'll pay for the repairs."

My mom's eyes widened. "Repairs? Oh, baby, what are you –?"

"It's all part of the plan, Mom! If you won't let me use your car, then I'll steal someone else's!" I snapped.

"No," she said quickly. "I don't want you to get in trouble again if you're caught. I just –"

"You what?"

"I just wish that nobody else had to get hurt," she confessed. I turned my back on her.

"And no one will," I promised, "after I've had my revenge."

* * *

"Oh my God! They killed Kenny!" Stan shrieked.

"You bastards!" Kyle cried, shaking his fist at the sky.

Rats had begun to nibble at their friend's bloody, broken body. The three boys had been about to abandon Kenny's dead body and wait for the bus when Cartman pointed out a sticky note stuck to Kenny's chest. After talking to my mother, I had remembered to add the finishing touch to my work and had to double back. Now I was watching my three remaining victims from behind a tree.

Kyle gingerly picked up the sticky note and read it. He paled and handed it to Stan with trembling fingers. Stan too went pale upon reading the sticky note and willingly handed it over to Cartman, who was bitching about "those fags leaving him out". Cartman snatched up the sticky note and peered down at the note:

_Stan Marsh_

_Kyle Broflovski_

_Eric Cartman_

_Kenny McCormick_

Their reactions were priceless. I snickered into my hands as they discussed the note with wide eyes and panicked voices. Kyle was trembling. Eric kept looking around to see if anyone was watching them, which I was. Stan just stared at Kenny's dead body with a horrified look on his face.

This was better than the actual revenge: the waiting, the anticipation, the paranoia. I knew who I would target next, but _they_ didn't know that. I would wait until they were stricken with fear and then I would strike.

And it would be glorious.

I turned and ran back towards my house, taking the back roads. They must have heard me running away because they shouted and ran after me, but I'm confident they didn't see me and didn't even trouble myself with worrying that they would catch up to me. I slowed to a job and closed my front door behind me before they even turned on to my street.

Stan arrived at the deserted street first. He could hear Kyle and Cartman panting behind him as he slowed to a stop.

"Where is that son of a bitch?" Kyle asked, breathing heavy. Cartman came lumbering up after them, so out of breath that he was unable to speak.

"I lost him," Stan admitted. Determination began to melt away and fear took its place.

"Great. _And_ we missed the bus," Kyle said and swore.

"I'm fucking scared," Stan said, his thoughts wandering back to Kenny's mangled body. "I don't want to die."

"We don't know that the guy is going to kill us," Kyle said, but even _he_ didn't believe himself.

"Fuck you, Kyle! That psycho is going to axe murder _all_ of us! I understand wanting to kill a Jew and a tree-hugging pussy, but why _me?_" Cartman moaned.

Stan and Kyle were too frightened to argue with Cartman. They slowly shuffled to Stan's house to ask Stan's mom for a ride to the high school, Cartman trailing behind them and bitching about how much he hated Stan and Kyle.


	2. Kyle

**A/N: Hey, everyone! I hope you're liking the story so far. I added in this author's note to tell you that, in the last chapter when the names on the sticky note are displayed, there is supposed to be a line through Kenny's name. I put a line through it on Microsoft Word, but is being stupid and won't transfer it over. *sigh* Well, I just thought I'd let you know so the story makes more sense. Okay, I've babbled long enough and you can get to the next chapter now. Happy reading!**

**-Rachel**

* * *

**Kyle**

Kyle's bar mitzvah had been a success. Somehow, it had been totally normal, without chaos or destruction or _Cartman._ No one had been more surprised than Kyle. He had thought for sure that the fat ass would do anything to ruin his big day, even after Kyle paid him $20 to stay away. Cartman claimed it was because being around so many of Kyle's Jew relatives would make his skin crawl, but Kyle wasn't so sure. Kyle didn't believe Cartman because he didn't _want_ to believe him. A part of him hoped that Cartman was finally growing a conscience and becoming a functioning member of society.

Keep in mind that Kyle hoped this to be true, but didn't for one minute believe it. Cartman had tricked him far too many times to allow himself to be roped in again. Back then, he had let Cartman convince him that he actually cared about Kenny and that he wanted to change his eating habits, only to build a replica of Shakey's Pizza and roll around in a mobility scooter. No, Kyle was not foolish enough to be tricked by Cartman again. But he could still hope, couldn't he?

There had been one drawback to Kyle's bar mitzvah going well, however. His parents had decided that since he was a man now, he should be more "connected" with his religion and shipped him off to Jewish camp for the entire before eighth grade. Jewish camp had sucked…at first. The only person he knew was his cousin, Kyle, and he didn't want to be seen with him and ditched him at every opportunity, as horrible as that was.

Then, Kyle met Carrie.

She was, in the simplest terms, beautiful. She was all blonde hair and blue eyes, but in no way was Carrie a bimbo. In fact, if you accused her of being so, she would promptly smash her fist into your face. Kyle knew because he had seen it happen.

Boys flocked to Carrie, and Kyle could see why, but, for some reason, she had chosen him. She let _him_ hold her hand and put his arm around her shoulders at campfire sing-a-longs and steal kisses when no one was looking. This lasted for about a week. Then, one night, when Kyle snuck his arms around her waist and prayed that she wouldn't get angry or swat his hands away, Carrie gave him a very curious look and quietly asked him if he wanted to go someplace more private.

His response had been as she expected: hell to the _yes,_ and Carrie snuck Kyle into the girls' cabin and began removing her clothes. Kyle froze.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

She stopped what she was doing, her pants down to her ankles and her tank top halfway off. She asked, "What do you mean?"

He licked his lips nervously. That was a stupid question – he _knew_ what she was doing. The real question was, did he want her to do it? His heart and his cock were screaming, 'Go for it!' but his brain was reminding him of all the drawbacks of having sex too early: pregnancy, STDs, ruined relationships, etc. Kyle didn't say any of this, though, because he didn't want to sound like a dork.

"I just…don't know if we should be moving so fast. We're only thirteen," he said.

"What did you think I meant when I asked if you wanted to go somewhere private?" Carrie asked. She removed her shirt completely and threw it on the bed. Seeing her in just her bra and underwear took his breath away for a moment.

"I-I thought you just wanted to make out…or something," Kyle mumbled, his cheeks reddening.

"We can make out first, if you want," she said and softly kissed him. As soon as Carrie's lips were on his and her hands were tugging his pants off, he knew that his brain was fighting a losing battle. Kyle let Carrie lead him to her bunk and remove his clothes. Carrie provided a condom for him to put on before they began and before long, he was inside her. He went slow at first and then began to thrust faster, at Carrie's request. Kyle was starting to think that, unlike him, Carrie had not been a virgin before that night.

Kyle focused on the smell of her hair and kissing her soft lips and making her wiggle and moan underneath him. He lost himself in the pleasure and for the first time in his life, Kyle Broflovski did not have a single thought in his head.

"How was it?" he asked once they had finished.

Carrie shrugged. "You weren't bad," she said and then winked at him, "for a first-timer."

"You mean, you're not? A virgin, I mean."

"Of course not. We just did it, didn't we?"

"You know what I mean," he said. Carrie sighed. The two were still wrapped up together in bed with Kyle's arms around her waist and Carrie's head on his chest. Carrie lifted her head up to look at him.

"Let me explain something to you, Kyle. Jewish cap sucks. It really, totally, definitely _sucks._ But most of us have to be here because our parents force us. It's kind of a tradition."

"What is? Having sex?" Kyle asked. He was curious now.

"Well, us kids had to do _something_ to make this place bearable. Everyone here is, well, open for business."

"So, let me get this straight," Kyle said slowly. "Jewish camp is basically one giant orgy."

"Yes. All the girls and even guys, if that's what you're into, will have sex with you in a heartbeat if you ask them to. As long as you have a condom, it's a guaranteed lay," Carrie explained.

"How do you know all this?" he cried, exasperated. "This is your first year, too!"

"My brother," she admitted and got out of bed in search of her clothes. Once she found each piece, she began to put them on. Kyle watched Carrie, now fully dressed, wave goodbye and depart from the cabin.

It began to sink in that he had been used. Carrie would probably be having sex with some other guy tomorrow night and the night after that and the night after that…

Kyle didn't understand meaningless sex, but that didn't stop him from having it all summer.

To be fair, it wasn't really 'meaningless'. Kyle was always willing to befriend the girl he boned and would explain the tradition of Jewish camp to them if necessary. Sometimes, Kyle would wake up alone, the girl having skipped out on him in the middle of the night. He didn't really mind, though. If the girl only wanted a one night stand, then that was fine with him.

Then, about mid-July, when Kyle was chatting up a girl named Elizabeth in the teen center, he felt a rough hand on the small of his back and heard a deep voice in his ear, asking Kyle to go back to his cabin with him.

Kyle went without hesitation, for two reasons.

The first was that he was really, _really_ horny. This guy was pretty much a guaranteed lay, while Elizabeth would take some convincing.

The second reason was that Kyle was a little…curious. He was only thirteen. He wanted to experiment and go through phases. Hell, he wanted his _phases_ to go through phases…just as long as nobody back home ever found out about it.

Kyle learned that the boy's name was Jared and he was fifteen. Kyle had been hit on guys before, but never took the bait…until now. He wasn't sure why. He only knew that Jared's black hair and blue eyes reminded him of a certain Super Best Friend back home in South Park.

Jared provided the condom and had it on before Kyle even had all of his clothes off. It was rather impressive. Then, Jared threw Kyle down on the bed and gave the redhead either the best or worst fuck he'd ever had. Kyle wasn't sure because the sex had been great – _better_ than great – but his ass hurt like hell and Jared ignored Kyle every time he asked if Jared could slow down.

All in all, Kyle's first experience of gay sex had not been a good one.

Kyle was ready to steer clear of guys forever and focus on girls until he explained what happened with Jared to his friend Mitchell and Mitch decided to take it upon himself to prove to Kyle that not all guys were like that. Mitch was a good kisser and he smelled nice and he let Kyle be on top. Kyle made love to Mitch down by the fireplace, just like Chef had always told him, and when he had finished, he helped Mitch clean himself up and then the two boys had gone back to their cabin for Prayer Hour.

Kyle had sex with fifteen people that summer. Four of them were boys. When Kyle arrived back in South Park, he felt…dirty. It was more than that, though. He felt like he was finally thinking clearly again. He thought about all the sex he had had and he felt ashamed. Scared. Regretful. His new attitude towards sex could have something to do with the nurse at camp telling him he had AIDs…again.

Finding a cure wasn't a problem. He had gotten loads of money from his bar mitzvah, enough to pay for the simple money injection that would cure him and then some. What scared Kyle was what his parents would say if they ever found out what he had _really_ been doing at Jewish camp. He was also afraid to go to the doctor alone, as silly as that was. Which was why, when Kyle got back to South Park, the first thing he did was seek out Stan. Unfortunately for Kyle, Stan was busy. Kyle didn't know what, but Shelly had looked even more pissed off than usual and had very rudely slammed the door in his face without an explanation.

So, Kyle waited until later that night and called Stan. He could have gotten Kenny to go to the doctor with him and saved himself a lot of time. He had even gone all the way to Kenny's house and explained the situation to him but when it was time to ask him to accompany him to Hell's Pass, he just couldn't do it. He really wanted Stan to be the one to go with him.

The phone rang four times before Stan picked up. This was odd, since Kyle knew for a fact that Stan kept his iPhone on the nightstand next to his bed every night.

"Hello?"

Stan sounded upset. Stan sounded _really_ upset.

"Dude, what's wrong?" Kyle whispered. Tomorrow was the first day of eighth grade, which meant Kyle had a strict bedtime again, which meant he wasn't supposed to be on his phone, which was why he was whispering.

"My – nothing. I'll tell you later, yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes,_ Kyle, Jesus!" Stan snapped and then his tone softened, "What do you need? Shelly said you came by earlier."

"I did. There's something I need to tell you."

Kyle told Stan the whole embarrassing story, only pausing when he thought he heard footsteps approach his bedroom door. It turned out to be Ike, who wanted to know who Kyle was talking to. Kyle told him to go away and then continued telling Stan the rest of the story in a hushed tone. When he finished, Stan said, "_Dude._"

"Shut up, I know. I was being stupid. I was absolutely _moronic_ and now I have AIDs and it's not even Cartman's fault. I feel shitty enough without you adding on to it," Kyle said sullenly.

"Sorry. So, when do you want to go to the doctor?"

"I was thinking tomorrow after school. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Stan agreed. "Band doesn't start until winter, so I'm free after school."

"Yeah, same with basketball," Kyle said. They were both silent for a while, listening to nothing but the other boy's breathing on the other line. Finally Stan cleared his throat and said,

"I missed you this summer."

"I missed you, too," Kyle continued. "Wait, wasn't there something _you_ wanted to talk about?"

"I never said I wanted to talk about it," Stan sighed, "but I guess I will, since you brought it up."

Then Stan told Kyle all about _his_ shitty summer. Kyle would even go as far to say that Stan's summer was worse than his. Sur, Stan didn't get AIDs, but he had spent his entire summer doing marching band in sweltering weather and listening to his parents bicker while Kyle had been off having every kind of sex.

"That sucks, man. That _really_ sucks. I hope I didn't make you feel worse," Kyle told him.

"The opposite, actually. Hearing about your AIDs-ridden body makes my family drama sound pretty lame in comparison," Stan said with a smirk. Kyle scowled.

"Blow me, Stan."

Stan took longer to come up with a snarky comeback than usual, but Kyle dismissed it as his friend still being upset. What Kyle didn't know was that Stan was very much in love with him, despite still being chained to Wendy. Stan cleared his throat after forcing images of him doing just that to Kyle out of his head and said, "Nah, I don't want to catch any of your diseases."

"I hate you," Kyle grumbled.

"I'm gonna go to bed, okay? Big day tomorrow," Stan said.

"Yeah. I'll see you at the bus stop."

"Right."

* * *

Kyle rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing his forearm. The doctor injected him with the cure quickly and (almost) painlessly. Kyle winced, and Stan moaned and held his stomach next to him. Kyle felt a little guilty about bringing him along (Stan hated hospitals) but not guilty enough to let him leave.

"Don't be a wuss," Kyle said. Stan flipped him off since his mouth was too busy holding back bile to deliver a clever comeback.

"There you are, Mr. Broflovski. Your AIDs is no more," the doctor joked with a cheesy smile. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Let's go, Stan."

Stan was very happy to follow his Super Best Friend out of the hospital. He immediately felt better upon exiting Hell's Pass and breathing in fresh air.

Kyle was very happy to leave the whole AIDs incident behind him and have everything go back to normal. Well, as normal as thing were in South Park.

Then, the-sticky-note-on-Kenny's-dead-body thing happened near the end of their freshman year. Great, just what Kyle needed. Now he had to worry about being murdered on top of studying for finals. Stan invited Kyle over that afternoon, not even twelve hours after they discovered the sticky note. Stan claimed to need Kyle's help in studying for history, but when Kyle got there, all they did was discuss the sticky not. Who had they chased that morning? Who would he (or she?) target next? Should they contact the police?

Kyle stretched out on Stan's bed, his legs falling over the side and his head practically in Stan's lap. He opened his mouth to say something but Stan beat him to it.

"Could you not lay like that?"

Kyle twisted his head to look up at his friend. "Why?"

"Because it really makes me want to kiss you right now."

Kyle went rigid. Did Stan really just say that? Yes, he believed so. He had to do something – react somehow – and he had to do it fast.

So, Kyle did the manliest thing he could think of: he made up some lame excuse about having to get home and darted out the door as fast as he could. He didn't stop running until he was on the front porch to his house and that was when the guilt settled in. He was quite possibly the biggest asshole in the universe. He shouldn't have run. He should have said something, anything, comforting to Stan. But he couldn't bring himself to go back.

Kyle let himself in his house with a sigh. Facing Stan tomorrow at school would be incredibly awkward and weird. He supposed he _could_ avoid his friend until Spring Break (only two days away), but that was such a shitty thing to do. Kyle just wouldn't feel right about it, even if he did wish he could avoid Stan forever.

To be perfectly honest, Kyle wasn't sure why he had reacted so harshly to Stan's feelings for him. He liked guys just as much as girls (he learned that from Jewish camp) and Stan was his Super Best Friend, A.K.A. the most important person in his life. Stan going from his Super Best Friend to his Super Best Boyfriend shouldn't freak him out as much as it did. Kyle guessed it was more from shock than anything. Stan's confession had fucked with his mind, blew him away, turned his world upside down. The worst part? _He hadn't even fucking suspected._ Kyle knew Stan Marsh inside and out, like the back of his hand. He knew Stan better than Wendy or even his mother, so why hadn't he figured it out? How could he not have known?

Kyle was too busy trying to work through the shock to even begin to contemplate if he returned Stan's feelings. He would figure that out another day.

He woke up the next morning dreading school more than he had ever dreaded anything, even sucking Cartman's balls. He also woke up ridden with a fever and his mother insisted that he stay home. So, he wouldn't have to deal with the Stan situation for another twenty-four hours. Kyle didn't feel better, though. Not even close. He texted Stan the following:

_I'm home sick. Wanna come over after school?_

Stan texted back ten or so minutes later, saying that he didn't want to catch Kyle's cold and would come over in a few days, after he had recovered. Kyle sent him a simple "_okay_" and stared at the ceiling. He would give Stan space if he wanted it…for the time being. They would have to talk about it eventually.

Kyle's day had been mindlessly dull. His mother coddled him and made him so much chicken soup that he didn't think he would be able to even look at another bowl of it for a while. He did homework and read and watched the Harry Potter marathon on ABC Family. Ike entertained him for a bit when he came home, but then his brother went to Filmore's house for dinner. Kyle couldn't even complain about being bored because his mom would push books on him and insist he studied for finals. All in all, his day sucked.

Then, around seven, his mom called up the stairs, "I'm going to the store, bubbie! Will you be all right here by yourself?"

Kyle opened his mouth to say that he was nearly fifteen and could handle staying at home alone for twenty minutes when he remembered the sticky note and his stomach dropped. He remembered the long, jagged line through Kenny's name. Kenny had gotten his punishment. The other three were still fair game. What if he was next? Would staying at home alone really be a smart thing to do?

He appeared at the top of the stairs and his mother looked up at hi, expecting an answer.

"Actually, can I go with you?" he asked, swaying on his feet.

"Of course! Put your shoes on and meet me by the car!"

Kyle did just that and fiddled with the radio as his mother backed out of the driveway. Despite feeling hot and cold at the same time and his head in a fog, Kyle felt instantly better when he got into the car with his mom. Sheila Broflovski was overbearing and controlling and stuck her nose where it didn't belong, but Kyle always secretly felt safe having her around. Not that he would ever admit it.

Sheila slowed to a stop at the stop sign and told Kyle to pick a radio station or he would listen to nothing at all. He huffed and grumbled under his breath. Sheila gently pressed the gas pedal and turned to face her son, assuming that she had heard wrong because she knew that Kyle wasn't giving her attitude. She opened her mouth to scold him when she was temporarily blinded by headlights. Sheila shrieked and swerved to try to avoid the car barreling towards them, but I was already upon them. I saw her reach her arm out to try to shield her son from harm and then I smashed my mom's SUV into the side of their vehicle. The Broflovski's car skidded and flipped before finally coming to a stop. I jumped out of my mom's car and ran to the car where my second victim lay.

Kyle and his mother were both unconscious. The windows had been knocked out and shards of glass were stuck in their skin. Kyle's mother's arm was bent at an odd angle. With the combined pressure of the airbag and the smashed in passenger door, Kyle was pinned to his seat and couldn't move even if he was awake.

I pressed two gloved fingers to the side of Kyle's and Mrs. Broflovski's necks. They both had pulses and I felt a surge of relief. I was pissed off, sure, but I didn't want anybody to die.

Well, except Kenny McCormick. But he dies so often that nobody gives a shit any more.

I pulled a pad of sticky notes and a pencil from my jacket pocket and scribbled a note almost identical to the last one: four names in the exact same order. Except, this time, Kyle's name was crossed out as well as Kenny's.

Two down, two to go.

I stuck the sticky note to Kyle's chest, made an anonymous phone call to the police about a hit-and-run, and then got in my mom's car and drove home.

It may seem like pure luck that I happened to run into Kyle and his mother (no pun intended) that night, but I assure you, it was not. I knew they were going out because my spy told me so.

Yeah, that's right. I have a spy. An accomplice, if you will. I have my shit together. I'm not just some redneck with shit for brains who gave reckless beatings. Correction: that used to be me. But I got smarter. I made a plan. I got an accomplice.

Nothing could stop me now.

* * *

Sheila Broflovski woke to a siren and several voices, as well as a pair of hands prodding at her. She snapped at the pervert to get away from her or he would feel her wrath.

"I'm a paramedic, ma'am. You were in a car accident," the man explained. The series of events came rushing back and Sheila jolted upward, ignoring the sharp pain in her sides and arm. She took note of the empty passenger seat.

"Where is Kyle?" she demanded to know.

"He's already in the ambulance, ma'am. You must understand that we had to tend to him first. He was much worse off than you."

_Worse off than you._

This propelled Sheila out of the car and toward the ambulance without a single steady hand to help.

"Ma'am! Come back! We need to tend to your injuries!" the paramedic called after her, but Sheila ignored him. A broken arm and a few scratches, she could handle. Right now, Kyle needed her and she would be damned if she didn't get her way.

No one said a word when she climbed into the back of the ambulance and clutched Kyle's hand. He was lying on a gurney, still unconscious, breathing into one of those plastic masks while paramedics worked on him. The ambulance began to move and Sheila felt every bump in the road on the way to Hell's Pass. She wondered if anyone had had the sense to call Gerald at the office and tell him what happened. Probably not. Like most everything else, Sheila would have to do that herself.

Luckily, the ride to Hell's Pass was a short one. Kyle was soon in the doctor's hands and Sheila finally allowed herself to relax and let the nurses treat her injuries. She called Gerald and had him fetch Ike and meet her at the hospital. The doctor appeared with news about Kyle as soon as her husband and younger son arrived.

The doctor delivered the best news she had ever heard: Kyle would live. However, he had been damaged. Gerald asked, "How?" and the doctor said that they should probably start saving up money for a wheelchair. Kyle wasn't permanently paralyzed, however. With physical therapy and a little luck, it was likely that Kyle would walk again, but not until at least his senior year. Sheila's mind was buzzing. She didn't even listen to the doctor when he explained exactly what happened to confine Kyle to a wheelchair for the next few years, which was unlike her. Normally, she would have hung on his every word and done everything in her power to raise awareness and stir the town into a frenzy. Not this time. This time, she felt helpless. None of her awareness would make Kyle walk any sooner than the doctor had diagnosed.

"I also found this stuck to Kyle," the doctor announced and handed Sheila a sticky note. It took a minute for her to register what she was seeing. When it did, she was furious. Her fire was back. She and Kyle hadn't been victims of a freak accident. Kyle had been _targeted._ Now this she could fight.

* * *

Stan got to Hell's Pass as fast as he could once he heard what happened, despite his mother's protests. Kyle's mother had called his mother, explaining the accident and the sticky note and advising that she keep Stan under a watchful eye, as he would be in danger. Stan didn't care in the slightest. He wanted to see Kyle and nobody was going to stop him. He had threatened to walk there and then his mom finally gave in and demanded that Shelly drive him to Hell's Pass. Shelly bitched the whole way there and threatened to beat the crap out of him if he made her late for her date with Tommy, but Stan tuned her out. He had gotten pretty good at that over the years.

When Shelly pulled into the hospital parking lot, Stan jumped out before she even stopped the car and ran into Hell's Pass and to Kyle's room. The sight took his breath away. Kyle looked so…weak. He was pale and covered in bandages and breathing through one of those plastic mask thingies. It seemed to bizarre that Kyle needed assistance with something so simple as breathing.

Crinkles appeared around Kyle's eyes when he saw him, and Stan guessed that it was because he was smiling. Kyle waved and Gerald and Ike noticed him standing there. Sheila was too busy pacing and shrieking into her cell phone to pay Stan any mind.

Kyle took off the mask (Stan had a feeling that he was only wearing it because of Sheila's insistence) and asked if he could speak to Stan in private. His family members filed out the door one-by-one and soon the two boys were alone.

"How bad is it?" Stan asked.

Kyle shrugged. "I, uh, damaged my brain or my nervous system or both…I don't fuckin' know. I kinda shut down when the doctor was explaining it, you know?" Kyle looked away from Stan and swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. "I might walk again in my senior year. I might never walk again. It all depends on luck, I guess."

Stan suddenly became aware of the wheelchair next to Kyle's bed. Kyle made sure not to look at it.

"I'm so sorry," Stan said. Kyle seemed to not hear him. He stared at the ceiling for the longest time. Finally, Kyle spoke,

"Take care of yourself, okay? This guy has already gotten me and Kenny, which only leaves you and fat ass. Be careful, Stan. If something happened to you…" he trailed off.

"I'll be careful," Stan promised.

"Good." Kyle nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

An awkward silence filled the room. Both Stan and Kyle wanted to talk about the almost kiss, but neither knew what to say. Stan cleared his throat and told Kyle that he should get going. Kyle nodded in agreement.

"See you later, Stan."

"Bye."

Stan left Kyle's room and the hospital. I watched him go. I easily could have followed him and given him the worst beating of his life, but I wasn't up for it tonight. I still felt all tingly and happy from fucking Kyle up so bad that he'll have to use a wheelchair for a few years, possibly forever. Besides, I was waiting for my accomplice.

"What the fuck."

There he was: Craig Tucker, my partner in crime. I recruited him because I knew he hated the four boys almost as much as I did. However, he hadn't known the full extent of my revenge when I asked him to join me.

"You didn't tell me they were going to get hurt," he said.

I shrugged. "Now you know."


	3. Stan

**Stan**

Puberty had not been good to Stan Marsh. His looks had turned out just fine, if that's what you're wondering and all of his body parts were proportional to each other. Stan had grown quite tall and as he grew older, his eyes only got bluer. He would have been the most sought after guy in the freshman class if it wasn't for Wendy, who threatened every girl who talked to him. Most guys, especially Kyle, would have found this irritating, but Stan was glad that Wendy was driving off all those girls so he wouldn't have to do it himself.

Stan had actually been blessed with good looks, but puberty had been bad to him in a different way.

For instance, Stan sometimes had to remind himself to breathe. He could be sitting in class or at home or with friends and Stan would suddenly be aware that he had stopped breathing and would have to suck in a gust of air to get rid of that painful constricting feeling in his chest. His mom thought it was leftover symptoms of the asthma he had in junior high and that it was no big deal. Stan disagreed. It was a huge deal. Cartman would have a field day if he ever found out that Stan could hardly breathe on his own.

Stan also had to stare at his food while he was eating it or he would miss his mouth. If he didn't follow the food with his eyes the entire tie, he would get a forkful of whatever he was eating in the cheek or down his shirt. It was ridiculous. Stan had tried to rid himself of that stupid quirk, but if he looked away from his food for a second, he ended up wiping it off his face.

Once, in seventh grade, he had a seizure in study hall. Stan was doing his homework and chatting with Kyle and then he woke up on the ground with everyone staring at him.

"_Dude!_" Kyle cried.

"What happened?" Stan asked. "How did I get on the floor?"

"You had a fucking seizure! You fell on the ground and started twitching. It was _scary,_" Kyle explained and then began to bitch out the study hall teacher for not lifting a finger to help him. She shrugged and said,

"He looks fine to me."

Kyle scowled and helped Stan to his feet. Stan tried not to blush when Kyle patted the dirt off his pants.

Stan was the normal kid in South Park, but living in a town like theirs can take a toll on anyone. Even the normal one in town was a bit odd. He told Kyle, and only Kyle, about his weird habits because he was sure he would die of embarrassment if anyone else knew, even Wendy. Kyle was nice about it, just like Stan knew he would be.

Speaking of Kyle, Stan had spent all of sixth and seventh grade trying to convince himself that the warm, fuzzy feelings he got around his Super Best Friend were nothing to concern himself with. He was aware that he was in denial because he used to get those same fuzzy feelings around Wendy and he had definitely liked her more than a friend back then.

Then, Kyle came back from Jewish camp and informed him that he had been whoring up the camp, and Stan felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. Hearing that Kyle had had sex with everybody in the universe except him (okay, maybe he exaggerated a little) made Stan so miserable that he couldn't deny his feelings for Kyle any longer.

Stan spent all of eighth grade and most of ninth grade in love with Kyle without letting Kyle or Wendy or anybody else in on his feelings. No one even suspected a thing. Perhaps Kenny should take acting lessons from him.

Stan had always felt closer to Kyle than anybody else. He told Kyle everything, even the embarrassing stuff, like how when his parents got divorced (for real this time) and Randy moved halfway across the USA, Stan stayed up the whole night crying. He also made Kyle promise not to tell anyone because bawling your eyes out for hours on end was definitely _not_ manly. Stan remembered the day vividly, but would prefer not to remember it at all.

Randy and Sharon had gathered Shelly and Stan one night, at the beginning of Stan's freshman year and Shelly's junior year, and said they were going to have a family meeting. The Marshes had been having a lot of family meetings lately for stupid things like someone leaving a fork in the sink, but Stan could tell by his parents' grave faces that this meeting was a serious one. Even Shelly, who had a date with Tommy in twenty minutes, didn't dare complain.

In the simplest terms, Stan's parents were sick of each other. They had both tried to stick it out until Stan went off to college, but found that their spouse pissed them off so much that they just couldn't do it. Randy would be moving away to California so he could be near his new job (and, Stan suspected, his new lover) while Sharon would be staying in South Park with Stan and his sister. Randy would come back to South Park for Christmas and both his kids' birthdays, and Stan and Shelly would visit him over the summer. So, roughly, Stan would see his father four times a year, as opposed to every day.

Randy wouldn't be around to embarrass him by fighting at his baseball games or taking over the school cafeteria with his gourmet cooking. Randy wouldn't be around to start riots or do idiotic things or get wasted at Skeeter's Bar and Cocktails. Randy wouldn't be around at all. Realizing all that broke Stan. He curled up in his bed that night and sobbed into his pillow. He wanted his dad back, but Randy was probably already boarding his plane to California. Stan cried in peace until Shelly came barging in at around midnight, demanding his phone charger. She froze when she saw the state Stan was in.

"Are you crying, turd?" she asked.

"No," Stan mumbled, wiping his eyes and handing his phone charger over to her.

"It sure _looks_ like you're crying," Shelly pointed out. Stan ignored her and hid underneath his mountain of blankets.

Shelly could have left him to fend for himself and returned to her room so she could text Tommy, but she chose to wake up her mother instead ("Mom! _Mom!_ Get up! The little brat is crying and you have to go talk to him!"). Because, despite what most might think, Shelly Marsh really did care about her stupid little brother.

Sharon entered his room and Stan knew it was all over for him. Stan's mother had this eerie power over him that he just couldn't resist. Like how Stan wanted to play football in high school, but Sharon was against it (Stan suspected that she had been listening to Sheila Broflovski's many rants about football-induced concussions), so Stan played the French horn in the band, instead. Sharon was his mother, so he _had_ to obey her, but Stan found that he just couldn't tell her no. Stan didn't understand at the time, but the real reason was that he was, well, a mama's boy.

Sharon sat at the edge of his bed and Stan tried to feign sleep, but failed miserably. Sharon removed his hat and pushed stray hairs off his forehead before saying, "Don't cry, sweetie."

Stan once again insisted that he was not crying, but Sharon wasn't having any of it. She went on to explain that she knew things were going to be different, but he had to make the best of it. Stan asked if there was someone else, because he didn't think he could handle another Roy. Sharon chuckled.

"No, Stanley, there isn't anyone else. Your father and I just don't love each other any more," she said.

"I don't get that. How do you stop loving someone?" Stan asked, thinking of Kyle.

Sharon shrugged. "Things change. People change and grow apart. Your father and I want different things now than we did when we got married."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you another time. It's late. You should be asleep," Sharon said. She kissed Stan good night and left his room.

Stan thought about what his mother said that night, mostly the part about not being in love with Randy any more. Stan envied her. He wished he could fall out of love with Kyle. He didn't get a wink of sleep that night and was like a zombie at school the next day.

Then, the sticky note thing happened and Stan was scared. Shortly afterwards, Kyle was hospitalized and Stan was terrified. He feared for himself and what the mysterious attacker would do to him and he feared for Kyle, even though his danger had already passed. Stan feared for Kyle because he couldn't _not_ fear for Kyle. He feared for Kyle because if he wasn't worrying about Kyle, then he was thinking about how he had fled the premises when Stan said he wanted to kiss him. Stan did not want to think about that.

Stan's mom called Stan's dad and told him about the sticky note situation. They agreed to have Stan and Shelly take their finals early and then leave for California as soon as possible. The whole point of leaving for Randy's early was so that Stan would be states away from his anonymous attacker for three whole months, hopefully long enough to find and jail him.

Stan's finals were hard. He wanted to blame it on not being able to study, but he knew that, had he been given the time to study, he wouldn't have. However, he knew his parents wouldn't care if he failed them all, given the circumstances.

Shelly was taking for-fucking-ever to get ready. Stan had his bags packed and had been ready to go for half an hour, but Shelly seemed to be taking her sweet time. Stan thought it was pretty inconsiderate of her, since it wasn't _her_ ass that was in danger. Still, Stan wished she would hurry up so they could get going. Shelly was the toughest person he knew and would feel way better if she was by his side.

"All right, turd, let's go," Shelly said as she came stomping onto the porch, swinging her suitcase around like it was a weapon.

"I said goodbye to Mom twenty minutes ago!" he protested, but a glare from his sister sent him scampering inside.

"Goodbye, Stanley, I'll miss you. Try to have fun at you dad's, okay? And stay out of trouble!" Sharon reminded Stan after releasing him from a hug.

"I will, Mom," he said.

"All right. I love you."

"I love you, too."

After they exchanged goodbyes, Stan grabbed his suitcase and ran to the car before Shelly left without him.

"It's about time. What the hell took you so long?" Shelly snapped. Stan just rolled his eyes and stared out the window as Shelly chose a radio station and backed out of the driveway. Both were completely silent the entire drive to Airport Hilton. Perhaps if they had been a little more observant, they would have noticed that I had followed them the whole way, in my dad's car this time, since my mom's was still getting repaired.

Shelly pulled into the parking lot of Airport Hilton, and she and Stan got their luggage out of the trunk and walked inside together. I followed closely behind them, but not too closely, waiting to get Stan alone. My chance came sooner than I expected when Shelly abandoned her brother to use the bathroom.

"Shelly, you can't! Mom said we have to stay together!" Stan cried. I was pleased to hear a trace of panic in his voice.

"Relax, turd. I'll be gone for like, three minutes," she replied, dropping her luggage down next to him and making her way to the ladies room.

"I'm serious! Don't leave me here!" Stan begged.

"I have to fucking _pee,_ Stan! Jesus Christ, can you stop being such a wuss for one goddamn second?" Shelly snapped and stomped to the bathroom.

Stan stared after her in horror and once again had to remind himself to breathe. He took several deep breaths before finally taking a seat on the bench. He took his phone out of his pocket and quickly sent a text to Kyle. Kyle always succeeded in making him feel better despite not being able to comfort anyone to save his life. He had barely sent the text when I sat down next to him on the bench and threw my arm around his shoulders.

"Say, Stan, why's a handsome guy like you sitting here all alone?" I asked, tightening my grip around his shoulders as Stan panicked and looked in my direction.

Stan didn't recognize me at first. Then, realization and horror dawned upon him. "_You,_" he gasped.

"Yes, me. Let's go for a walk, Stan, before dear older sister Shelly gets out of the bathroom," I suggested and stood up, dragging Stan behind me by the collar. He struggled and called out to others at the airport to help him, but I simply smiled and told the people that my mentally ill brother was having a fit and I needed to get him outside.

"No, don't listen to him! He's lying! Help me!" Stan cried, but I continued to drag him along behind me.

The bystanders shook their heads and muttered things like, "How sad." This only made Stan more hysterical.

"GODDAMN IT! THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME! HE'S LYING! _HE'S GOING TO KILL ME!_"

I did nothing to quiet him. His shouts and hysteria would only make my story more believable. I hauled him out of the back door and let it clang shut behind us. We were in a creepy alley behind the airport. It was the perfect setting.

I shoved Stan to the ground and he yelped. I saw the way he was looking at me, with terror on his face, and I realized that this was what true fear looks like.

"I-I'm _so_ sorry, man. Just please don't kill me. _Please._"

There was something satisfying about hearing Stan beg for his life. But he needn't have bothered, because…

"I'm not going to kill you," I told him. He looked confused, then relieved.

"You're not?"

"No. But you _do_ know my identity –"

"I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

"– and the whole point of my revenge is for my identity to be a secret –"

"_Please_ let me go!"

I held up my hand to silence him. "It's rude to interrupt. As I was saying, you know who I am. You'll probably tell all your stupid friend and then everything will be ruined. That can't happen. So, Stan, tell me, what do _you_ think I should do to you to make sure you'll stay quiet?"

Stan stared at me, trembling. His mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out.

"Well?" I asked.

Finally, he squeaked, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" I repeated.

"I won't tell, so you don't have to – to do anything to me. I won't tell."

"I think you're lying," I said.

"I'm not!" he cried, half-sobbing now.

"I'll give you a few options, how about that? It will be like multiple choice. That's fun, right?" I asked. I didn't wait for him to answer before I started rattling off punishments: "Let's see. A: I could blind you, B: I could cut your tongue out, C: I could break your jaw and smash your teeth, D: I could – this one's my favorite – beat you into a coma. All right, Stan," I turned to him, still trembling on the ground. "What will it be? A, B, C, or D?"

"Um, E?"

I snorted. "You always were a smartass, Stan. Since you won't pick, I'll pick for you. I choose D." I raised a fist.

"No! No, wait! I choose C!" he screamed.

"It's a little too late now. I'll see you if you ever wake up from your coma."

Stan tried to escape, but I pinned him to the ground and my fists rained down on him. I beat every part of Stan that I could reach until he stopped struggling. Stan's blood was splattered on the pavement. He was looking at me through unfocused eyes, looking dazed and confused. I twisted his arm back until I heard a snap, hoping to get a reaction out of him. It worked. Stan screamed like a little girl when his bone snapped. Then, I bashed Stan's head against the pavement a few times, for good measure. Head trauma would put him in a coma for sure.

I stood up when I had finished, stuck a sticky note on his chest with only one name without a line through it, and whipped out two things very special to me: my lighter and my dick. I bent down and used my lighter to light the sleeve of Stan's jacket on fire. I watched, amused, as the fire jumped up his arm and to the side of his face and singed his hair. The smell of burning flesh quickly became unbearable, so I urinated on Stan to put the flames out. Surely, he remembered that game.

I put my dick and my lighter away and then peeled off my gloves, as well as my blood-stained clothes. I made another anonymous phone call to the police and then fled the scene in nothing but my boxers and a wife beater.

* * *

Stan Marsh was dreaming. In the outside world, he had been carted off to Hell's Pass and treated for the burns that dominated the left side of his face. His father was flying in to South Park to visit him in the hospital. The doctor was informing his mother that head trauma had caused his coma and he could wake up at any time, but the longer it took, the less likely it would be. Shelly was furiously banging on Kenny McCormick's front door and demanding that he help her find Stan's attacker, replacing her guilt with anger. Kyle had convinced his mother to wheel him to Stan's room and was now staring at his best friend, the same words echoing over and over in his head: _I'll be careful._ But none of that mattered to Stan at the moment because right now, all that mattered to him was what was happening inside his head.

There was an entirely different universe in Stan's head. A better version of the real world. In Stan's world, his parents were back together, Shelly was nice to him, Cartman was mildly annoying instead of a complete and utter asshole, and _Kyle_ was the one pining after _him_. Basically, things were perfect.

Stan remembered the exact moment he had fallen for Kyle. It was the last day of summer before sixth grade and Clyde Donovan was throwing a party at Stark's Pond. Everyone wore their bathing suits, and Stan, Kyle, and Kenny thought it would be funny to wear Speedos. Fortunately for everyone else, they had not informed Cartman of this plan. Cartman strutting around in a Speedo was enough to ruin anyone's day. And if seeing Cartman in a Speedo could ruin someone's day, then seeing Kyle in one could make it. Stan was already terribly confused about his sexuality and seeing that Speedo hug Kyle's perky ass wasn't helping (actually, it helped a hell of a lot, but Stan didn't want to admit it). Cartman insulted the Jews. Kyle shot back a snarky comment. Kenny said that Kyle was "50% sass and 50% ass".

And Stan? Stan was looking at Kyle for the first time, it seemed. Half ass and half sass? That seemed like a pretty good combination to him. He then made a mental note that Wendy was 100% sass and 0% ass/ Not a good combination.

"Whoa, dudes," Kenny had said and gestured to Stan. "I think I just saw Stan fall in love."

Stan had always wondered what that look would look like. Now he knew, because in his dream world, Kyle was looking at him like that. Now Kyle was asking him to dump Wendy and go on a date with him.

"Okay," Stan said.

Dream Kyle was tugging him along by the hand while Real Kyle was sitting in a hospital room, staring at his broken body with Sharon and Wendy.

Bebe came skipping into the room with balloons and flowers and…Kenny. Kyle stared at him in disbelief. He hadn't seen his friend since he was killed last week.

"Dude, where the hell have you been?" Kyle demanded to know.

"I'll tell you later," Kenny said. He took one look at the state Kyle and Stan were in and looked sick. Kyle thought it served him right. He and Stan had been suffering all week and Kenny had disappeared when he could have been comforting them or doing _something_ useful.

Bebe seemed to float around the room, decorating it with flowers and balloons and Get Well Soon cards. She was chattering on about something stupid, but no one was listening to her until –

"…it's a shame what happened to his face. Stan was so _handsome _–"

Wendy whipped around to face her best friend, her face twisted with rage. "Stan is still handsome! Just because his face is a little…different doesn't make him less appealing!"

Kyle silently agreed and found his eyes wandering back to the left side of Stan's face while Wendy and Bebe bickered. It was bandaged, the white wrappings hiding the charred and blistered remains underneath. Stan's left arm had been badly burned and his right arm had been broken and was in a sling. Several of his ribs and fingers had been broken as well. Unlike Kyle, Stan's legs had been undamaged.

Kyle had meant it when he said he didn't want anything bad to happen to Stan. But now something bad had happened to him and Kyle didn't know what to do. He couldn't imagine life without Stan. As far as Kyle was concerned, Stan didn't have a choice. He _had_ to wake up, an soon.

Wendy and Bebe had stopped fighting. The room filled with an awkward silence as everyone did nothing but watch the steady rise and fall of Stan's chest and listen to the beeping of the machines. Then, Randy Marsh showed up and the four adolescents thought it best to leave Stan with his family.

"Speaking of Stan's family," Kenny said, "I've got to go find Shelly."

"Shelly? I didn't know you two were friends," Wendy said suspiciously.

"We're not. We're more like allies," Kenny explained.

"We'll explain later," Bebe said. She shot Wendy and Kyle an award winning smile and then left with Kenny, their fingers intertwined.

"What is going on with them?" Wendy asked, staring after her best friend and Kenny.

Kyle muttered an "I dunno," and shrugged. He wasn't trying very hard to contribute to the conversation because he was studying Wendy. Did she know that Stan was in love with someone who wasn't her? Judging by the fact that she hadn't clawed Kyle's face off or shot him to the center of the sun, he guessed not. A part of Kyle pitied her. She had always been a good girlfriend to Stan, but Stan didn't mean to fall for someone else. It was nobody's fault.

"I should probably get going back to my room," he said, cutting her off mid-rant. Kyle had been so pre-occupied with his own thoughts that he hadn't even realized she was ranting in the first place.

"Do you need help?" Wendy asked, her eyes sweeping over his wheelchair.

"Uh, I'm good, thanks."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Wendy bit her lip and looked at him with sad eyes. "All right. Take care of yourself, Kyle."

"Thanks," Kyle said. Wendy turned to go and Kyle added, "He'll wake up, Wendy. I know he will."

Wendy turned back to give him another sad smile. This time her eyes sparkled with tears. Kyle noticed right then how beautiful Wendy Testaburger really was. His heart went out to her and he wanted to say, 'I'm sorry Stan doesn't love you,' but didn't. He watched her walk away and went back to his room, feeling worse than when he had left.

* * *

Stan was still dreaming. He didn't know he was in a coma. If he had, he would have tried to come back to his family and friends (to Kyle), no matter how perfect his imaginary world was. But Stan didn't know he was in a coma or what happened to put him in one. His mother or father would whisper things into his ear, but their words fabricated themselves into his dream.

Sharon and Randy didn't say much to one another. Their abrupt reunion was awkward, but they stuck it out for Stan.

A boy appeared in the doorway. He wore a blue hat and his normally monotone face was ridden with guilt.

"Hello," he said

Randy and Sharon were surprised to see him and it took them a moment to recognize him.

"Say, you're Thomas Tucker's boy, aren't you?" Randy asked and the boy nodded,

"I'm Craig."

"Are you one of Stanley's friends?" Sharon asked.

"Yes," Craig said, even though it was nowhere near true. He hated Stan. He had even gone so far as to team up with the maniac who put Stan in a coma and Kyle in a wheelchair. But Craig had never wanted this.

When that asshole told Craig he wanted revenge on South Park's famous foursome, Craig thought he meant he was going to hang up embarrassing photos of them around school or convince Wendy that Stan was cheating on her. Simple stuff. Craig never expected this.

"How is he." His statement was in the form of a question, but it wasn't one. Craig Tucker did not ask questions.

"Oh, he – he's about the same. The doctor said he should wake up soon, but…" Mrs. Marsh's voice wavered. "…if he keeps on sleeping, then it's less likely that he'll wake up."

Craig licked his lips. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault, honey," Mrs. Marsh said.

Except it was.

So what if Craig had told his accomplice to fuck off and that he wasn't helping him any more after Kyle's "accident"? He hadn't stepped up and told the police what he knew because if his (ex) accomplice went down, so did he. That asshole knew it, too. He could have prevented Stan from getting hurt, but he chose to save his own ass instead.

And he felt bad.

Craig hated that Stan Marsh could make him feel this shitty. There was no doubt in his mind that Stan would wake up, because things always worked out for Stan. But Stan's mom had looked so _sad_ and that only make Craig feel worse.

"What do you have there?" Mr. Marsh asked, gesturing to the package in Craig's hands. Tweek had bought it and insisted that Craig bring it over to Stan in his place. Tweek was scared to death of hospitals. But then again, what wasn't Tweek scared of?

Then Craig noticed that Stan had an entire table of gifts and cards and homemade desserts, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Marsh could not have been in the hospital more than two days and he already had that much stuff? If Craig had been seriously ill, he would've gotten the finger from his family and a medical bill. Well, Tweek would have gotten him something, but still.

"It's for Stan," he said lamely. _No shit, Craig._

"That's very kind of you, Craig. You can put it with the others," Mrs. Marsh said. Craig did so and turned to face Stan's mom, only to find that she had already forgotten about him. She was tenderly touching the side of Stan's face that wasn't burnt.

"I'm leaving now."

"Bye, Clyde," Mr. Marsh said.

"I'm Craig."

"Right."

Craig left. He, too, felt worse than he did when he left home.

Sharon kept smoothing Stan's hair back, lost in thought. She couldn't stop worrying about Stan, so ignoring Randy was easy. She couldn't bear the thought of what would happen if Stan didn't wake up.

"Come back to me, angel," she whispered.


	4. Cartman

**Cartman**

Unlike his peers, Eric Cartman's childhood had been relatively normal. He rioted, tried (and failed, thanks to Kyle and Stan…God, he hated those guys) to exterminate the Jews, manipulated Butters, and was sent back to juvie several more times where he ruled with an iron fist.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

As the years went by, Cartman only got fatter. Despite what most might think, he did not randomly decide in his teenage years that it was time for a change. He did not drop the pounds and he did not play sports. In fact, Cartman was lazier than ever. Each new fat roll came with one more claim from Cartman that he was _buff,_ not fat.

Right now, the prejudiced and selfish hunk of fat that was Eric Cartman was huddling in his bedroom, trembling from head to toe. He had demanded that his mother put the entire house on lock down and, after seeing what had happened to Stan and Kyle, she obliged. All of the lights were off, all the curtains drawn, all the doors locked. Cartman wasn't taking any chances. This psychopath had saved him for last for a reason. Cartman thought of Kyle, who _might_ walk again, and Stan, who _might _wake up from his coma, and shuddered. He didn't give two shits about Stan and Kyle. He hated those guys and thought they deserved everything they got.

Like usual, Cartman was only worried about himself.

Who knew what this mysterious psycho had planned for him? Cartman had no idea why anyone would want to hurt him. He could understand Kenny, Kyle, and Stan – they were assholes. But why him? As far as he was concerned, everyone in town loved him. And why shouldn't they? He was so awesome and cool.

But someone in town didn't love him. In fact, they hated him. They wanted to do horrible things to him, which was why Cartman was currently hiding in his room, with the entire South Park police standing guard outside his house. Like he said before, he wasn't taking any chances.

Maybe this guy would give up. Maybe he would get caught. Maybe he would decide that Cartman wasn't worth his time and move on. Cartman could only hope.

The doorknob rattled and he nearly pissed himself.

"Eric, honey, open the door! It's Mommy!"

"Goddamn it, Mom!" Cartman swore and hauled himself to his feet. He wrenched open the door. "What do you _want?_"

"It's just that I _really_ need to get to work –"

"NO!" Cartman bellowed. "What, are you crazy? You can't leave me alone! I'm gonna fucking DIE!"

"Watch your langua –"

"Do you want to see your only son get _gutted?_ Is that what you want, Mom?" Cartman was hysterical now.

"Eric! Calm down! I am going to leave you with the nice policemen. You'll be perfectly safe!" his mother explained.

"Stan's mom thought _he_ was safe, too. And where is Stan now, Mom? _In a fucking coma._"

"Eric, that is _enough!_" she snapped, anger glaring up. "You can either stay here with the policemen or come with me to work! And I don't want to hear any more complaining out of you! Is that understood?"

"But Moooooooooooooom!"

"_No,_ Eric! My mind is made up. Now, do you want to stay here or come with me?"

"I won't be safe outside! You can't protect me!" Cartman protested.

"Then stay here," his mom suggested.

"But the South Park Police are _idiots! _And they don't even know how to enforce their authoritah!"

Liane sighed in frustration. "If you won't make the decision, then I'll make it for you."

"But –"

"No buts. You're staying here. Goodbye, Eric, and be safe." Liane slammed the bedroom door shut and left the house. Cartman stared at the closed door in disbelief.

"What a _bitch!_" he roared and then collapsed onto his bed. He burrowed himself under the blankets and stayed there for a very long time. After some time, Cartman fell asleep. He was curled under his covers and on top of his plush mattress, where it was warm and dark and comfortable. It was pretty much impossible _not_ to fall asleep under such conditions.

Cartman's dreams were worry-free. For the first time in a long time, he was relaxed. He dreamt of his mother's butterscotch pudding. He also dreamt of Wendy Testaburger. Eventually, Cartman's brain combined the dreams and he dreamt he was licking butterscotch pudding off of Wendy Testaburger's tits. Wendy was wiggling underneath him and she was screaming _his_ name and not Stan's.

Cartman woke up with a start…and a boner. He had an odd, disturbed feeling and was suddenly very afraid to get out of bed. He tried not to think about his weird dream about Wendy. He hated that hippie bitch! He grunted and pushed his way out of the covers, only to see me standing at the foot of his bed It took him a moment to recognize me, but when he did, he shrieked and launched himself back towards his blankets.

However, no amount of burrowing could hide him from me. I leaped on top of that hunk of fat before he could grab a weapon and pinned him to the bed. I pulled a knife on him. This time, I was the one with the leverage and it felt good. Cartman bawled and struggled and screamed for the police, but it did him no good. Once he calmed down, I told him,

"The police left to go get lunch."

"I FUCKING HATE THE SOUTH PARK POLICE, THOSE GODDAMN UNRELIABLE BASTARDS, I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO SUE EVERY ONE OF THEM –"

I clamped my hand over his mouth. "Shut the fuck up Cartman," I said coolly.

This was it. Cartman was the last one. After this, my revenge would be finished. I could move on and live my lie. Excitement thrummed in my veins of the thought of it.

I put the knife away when I was sure that Cartman was good and scared. That part would come later. Right now, I just wanted to beat the shit out of this little pink.

And I did.

Cartman's body was bloody and broken and he was crying for his mother as he clung to the verge of consciousness. That's when I got my knife back out and carved my name into his large gut. Then, I realized my mistake.

"Shit. _Shit!"_ I tried to undo my mistake, but Cartman was already losing too much blood. I got caught in the moment and I fucked everything up. My fucking _name_ was carved into his belly. My identity was revealed.

How could I have let this happen?

I made a quick call to the police station (it turns out, they're still at lunch, but I left a message with the secretary and ordered her to send an ambulance to the Cartman house right away) and then I ran like a mad man to my house, where I started packing.

"What are you doing, sweetie?" my mom asked.

"Fuck! Jesus, Mom, ever heard of knocking?"

"Why are you packing?" she asked, the panic in her voice rising.

"I screwed up, Mom. They know it was me. I have to get out of town," I explained in a rush.

"You're not going anywhere!" my mom cried.

"Mom, I have to leave!" I protested.

"No, I mean it! You are not going to jail again! I won't lose you again because a few asshole kids can't keep their mouths shut!" she snapped. She looked a little crazy right then, with her hair sticking up in odd places and her breaths coming in short gasps. I quickly decided that she was the most badass mom ever. I stopped packing to give her my full attention.

"What are we going to do?" I asked her. She paced back and forth in my room, deep in thought.

"We have to do whatever we can to keep those kids quiet."

"The other three aren't the problem," I told her. "Kenny and Kyle didn't see me. Stan did, but he's in a coma. We just need to take care of Cartman."

"Okay, good. I can take down one snot-nosed brat," my mom said. I smiled at her. What happened to the woman who didn't want anyone to get hurt? I didn't know who this new woman was, but I liked her.

"How?"

"Tell me everything that happened. Then, I'll think of a plan."

* * *

Liane Cartman was interrupted at work by a phone call from the police, saying that Eric had been attacked and was now at the hospital. She immediately ditcher her 'gentleman caller' and rushed to the hospital in tears. This was all her fault! If only she had stayed home with her little muffin.

Cartman was in critical condition when Liane arrived at Hell's Pass. The doctors wouldn't let her see him just yet and she collapsed in a chair in the waiting room.

"Mrs. Cartman?" a familiar voice surprised her. She looked up and saw Kyle Broflovski looking curiously at her. He was seated in a wheelchair and his mother was standing behind him with her hands firmly on the handlebars of the chair. "What are you doing here?"

"I-It's Eric! He's been attacked! It's all my fault! Oh, God!" she sobbed and put her head in her hands.

"Is he going to be okay?" Kyle asked.

"I don't know!" Liane cried.

"Oh, that's just awful! I know just how you feel! I was beside myself with worry when my bubbala got hurt!" Sheila said and pinched Kyle's cheek.

"Ow! Mom, don't do that!"

"I was just taking Kyle to visit Stan. I could come back and keep you company once I drop him off," Sheila suggested.

"Mom, I can go by myself," Kyle interjected, but Sheila waved him off.

"Wait a minute, Kyle. Mommy is having a conversation."

Kyle huffed in frustration. He hated being stuck in that stupid chair with no way out of this boring Mom conversation. He hated that his mom was now not only overprotective, but she treated him like he was five years old. He hated that Stan had left him to deal with all the idiots of South Park alone.

He listened to his mother squawk and Mrs. Cartman cry for nearly ten minutes until he couldn't take it any more.

"Mom, can I _go_ now, please? I want to see Stan!" Kyle cut his mother off mid-sentence and she cast him a disapproving glare.

"Well, if you _must._ Be careful, though, bubbie. I don't need you getting hurt again," she said sternly.

"I won't. I can take care of myself."

Sheila let go of Kyle's wheelchair and took a seat next to her weeping friend. Kyle wheeled himself to the elevator and watched the other people inside squirm uncomfortably in his presence. He managed to make it all the way to Stan's room without bitching at anybody, but his temper was short. He was glad when Randy and Sharon went out to lunch when he arrived, so he could be alone with Stan.

However, he found that when he _did_ get time to be alone with Stan, he didn't know what to do with it. Should he talk to Stan? Would Stan even hear him? What would he even _say?_ Kyle felt stupid talking to someone who couldn't talk back, but it was better than saying nothing, so he gave it a shot.

"Uh, hey, Stan. It's Kyle. I don't even know if you can hear me, but just in case you can…wake up, okay? I can't survive in this town without you. I need you to be with me, not laid up in some hospital bed," Kyle said and then sighed. "I don't really know what I mean. I don't know if I want you to be with me like you want or if I want us to just be best friends, but…I'd like to figure it out. With you. So, do us both a favor and wake up."

Kyle shouldn't have been frustrated when Stan didn't open his eyes, but he was. "Damn it, Stan! You've been in a coma for a week now! You should have woken up by now! Your parents are worried sick about you! Everyone in town wants you to get better!" Kyle gestured to the table of gifts, despite Stan not being able to see the gesture. "So, stop being so fucking selfish and WAKE UP!"

"What are you doing, young man?"

Kyle turned to see a nurse standing in the doorway, glaring at him disapprovingly. "I was just –"

"Yelling at him will not make him come back to you. I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you'll just have to be patient," she said sternly.

"I've been patient for a week now. The doctor said –"

"I know his diagnosis," the nurse cut him off and strode into the room. "Who is Stanley to you?"

"He's my best friend," Kyle replied

"Well, then, you can't give up on him, can you?"

"Of course not."

"There's still a good chance that he'll wake up soon. Don't lose hope just yet, kid." The nurse smiled at him and then began to change Stan's bandages.

"Thanks," Kyle said, smiling gratefully at her. His eyes wandered over to the table piled high with food, gifts, and flowers and then nurse followed his gaze.

"Stanley is quite the popular guy, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah. He's the best thing that ever happened to this town," Kyle said confidently. "And I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't wake up." That part wasn't nearly as confident.

The nurse finished up with Stan's bandages and then took a seat next to Kyle. He saw from her nametag that her name was Jackie. She said, "My mom was in a coma for over a year. Everyone had given up hope that she would ever wake up, but she did. Miracles _do_ happen and, I'd say, miracles are more likely to happen in this town that anywhere else. So, stop worrying. I doubt you'll have to wait for Stanley much longer."

"Thanks," Kyle said again.

Nurse Jackie left to check on her other patients, and Kyle's mother came to get him soon after. He stared at Stan longingly as Sheila pushed him out of the room.

"Can't I stay with Stan a little longer?" Kyle asked.

"You've gone to see Stan every day for a week. Don't you want to see your friend, Eric? The doctor is letting him have visitors now," Sheila explained.

"I don't really give a crap about Cartman, Mom."

"Of course you do, bubbie," she replied, waving him off. Kyle ground his teeth.

Cartman was in worse shape than Kyle thought. His injuries were treated and his stomach was bandaged up, but Cartman was completely unresponsive. The doctor said he was still in shock. Cartman was staring straight ahead and giving no sign that he heard what anyone around him was saying. Occasionally, he would blink and he would eat if food was presented to him (Cartman could never refuse food, even in a shocked state).

It was unnerving to see Cartman so helpless. Kyle tried to make him feel better by thinking that this whole sticky note business was over with, but he knew it wasn't true. It wouldn't truly be over until Cartman snapped out of it and Stan woke up.

* * *

Shelly Marsh hated South Park, now more than ever. Everywhere she went, she could hear people whispering about her. Of course, everyone in town knew about the sticky note incident and it was all anyone could talk about.

Occasionally, a classmate would come up to her and kindly ask how Stan was doing. She would promptly shout at this person until they either cried or ran away from her. Why did they have to bother Shelly with such nonsense when they were free to go to Hell's Pass and see how Stan was doing themselves?

Turds.

Shelly was particularly angry today and for a good reason, too. She had heard a thing or two from the rumor mill and was on a mission to find out if they were true. If they were, she would be madder than hell.

Her first stop was Eric Cartman's room at the hospital. The first rumor going around town was that her brother's fat turd of a friend had the name of the boys', but more importantly to her, Stan's, attacker carved into his stomach. She planned to find out who the son of a bitch was and make him or her pay.

However, Shelly's plans were quickly thwarted. Her mother was exiting the hospital just as Shelly was entering. Sharon was furious and chewed Shelly out for leaving her room when she was grounded. She then yelled at Shelly (again) for abandoning Stan at the airport when she had been specifically told not to.

Shelly knew it was he fault that Stan was in the hospital. As if she needed a reminder.

Sharon sent her back to the house and she went, with a scowl and a plan. As soon as she was out of Sharon's eyesight, she whipped her phone out and texted Bebe, ordering her to find out what name was on Eric Cartman's stomach.

* * *

Unfortunately for Shelly, Bebe was unavailable. She was getting her hair and nails done for the play tonight. Even after she finished, she would have to practice her lines all afternoon.

There was simply no way Bebe could complete the task that Shelly had given her.

"Mom?" Bebe said sweetly. Her mother was standing by the door, waiting for her daughter to be finished.

"Yes, Bebe?"

"Can you forward this message to Kenny? I'd do it, but my nails are wet."

"Sure, honey," Mrs. Stevens replied. It took her a few minutes to navigate her daughter's iPhone, but she finally managed and put it back in Bebe's bag.

"Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome," Mrs. Stevens said and then asked, "Is Kenny your boyfriend?"

Bebe rolled her eyes. Like most parents, her mother assumed that every boy she talked to was her boyfriend. Her mom was actually almost right this time.

"Not yet," Bebe replied.

* * *

Kenny swore when he received the text from Bebe. Why would she ask him to do such an annoying task when she _knew_ that tonight was their opening night? He had to practice! And why did she call him a turd?

He left for the hospital without a word to anybody. One of the few advantages of having drug-addicted, alcoholic parents were that they don't give a shit where you go or what you do.

Hell's Pass wasn't a long walk from his house so he took his time getting there. On the way there, he fantasized about the play that night. More specifically afterward, when he would get to make out with Bebe. Damn, she was hot.

Kenny arrived at the hospital without really paying attention. His legs carried him up the stairs and to Cartman's room. Cartman's mother, who was also hot, was in the room with him, but nobody else was there. Kenny noticed a lack of gift. Stan had gifts.

"Oh, hello! Are you here to visit Eric?" Liane asked.

"Uh, sort of," Kenny said. Cartman was still in the shocked state that Kyle had told him about, so he should accomplish his mission fairly easily. Kenny yanked the covers down and Cartman's hospital gown up, and peered down at the name imprinted on his stomach.

"No fucking way."


	5. Kenny (II)

**Kenny (II)**

Kenny bolted from the hospital after his amazing discovery. He made a beeline for the Marsh house, knowing that it would be mostly empty. His friend was still in a coma and the parents were still at the hospital, but Shelly would be there and she was the one he wanted to speak with.

He rang the doorbell three times before Shelly finally answered.

"What took you so long?" he asked as she yanked him inside by the collar.

"I was watching Buffy," she replied with a shrug and then said, "Wait a minute. You're not Bebe."

"She's busy. She sent me, instead. You will never believe who our culprit is."

Shelly frowned at Kenny and then rolled her eyes. "Who, that punk Trent Boyett? I figured that out fifteen minutes ago. It's called the internet, turd. Ever heard of it?"

"Trent Boyett is on the internet? Why?"

Shelly groaned in frustration and led Kenny to her computer. She pulled up the front page of _South Park News_ and sure enough, there was a picture of Trent Boyett with his mom at the top. The headline read: _Surprising Fifth Victim in Crime Spree._

"What the hell is this?" Kenny asked, squinting at the web page.

"Read it," Shelly instructed.

He began to read the article and felt a little sick by the time he had finished. He didn't know that anybody other than Cartman could be so devious and clever.

"People can't seriously believe this bullshit," he said.

"Of course they do. It's South Park," Shelly replied.

"Somebody else had to be behind this." Kenny gestured to the computer screen. "I don't remember Trent ever being this smart, or smart at all, really. Someone else is helping him with this plan."

"Who?"

"I'm not sure. A parent, maybe? Or one of his friends from juvie." Kenny laughed. "You know, it's funny. I _actually_ wish Cartman was here right now. He knows how psychos think."

"Who gives a shit who came up with Trent's bullshit story? Let's exploit him and show everyone that he's the attacker, not the victim," Shelly explained.

"It won't be easy. The plan is a good one. I mean, pretending that his name on Cartman's belly was another form of the sticky note and playing the victim is genius. He's in police custody, did you read that? He's there so this 'attacker' won't hurt him. The police are actually protecting Trent from himself."

"I _know_ all that, turd!" she snapped at him. "Now will you quit creaming your pants over Trent and help me with a plan?"

"I wasn't –"

"_NOW, _TURD!"

* * *

The plan was a simple one. It was actually pretty stupid, compared to Trent's. But it required little to no effort from Kenny, which meant he would be able to perform in the play tonight, so he was on board.

Basically, the only way to reveal Trent as a liar was proof. And that meant one thing: witnesses. However, neither one of the two witnesses were in any condition to talk about what they had seen, seeing as one was in a coma and the other in shock.

When Kenny had pointed this out to her, Shelly had smiled evilly and said, "We'll just have to do something about that, then, won't we, turd?"

Wendy and Kyle were recruited for the plan. Kenny was impatiently tapping his foot while Shelly explained the plan (he had a play to rehearse for!).

"– ndy, you go talk to my stupid brother and Kyle can talk to –"

"Actually," Kyle cut in, "I think I'd better talk to Stan."

"I'm his girlfriend," Wendy argued.

"I'm his Super Best Friend," Kyle argued back. His tone clearly suggested that his title outranked Wendy's. Before she could reply, Shelly cut in:

"We don't have time for this crap! Kyle, Kenny picked you because he knows you can get a rise out of Cartman –"

"So can Wendy," Kyle pointed out. When no one objected, he said, "So it's settled. I'll talk to Stan and Wendy will talk to Cartman."

That incident had certainly gotten Kenny's attention. Why did Kyle want to talk to Stan so badly? It could just be that he didn't want to talk to Cartman, but Kenny wasn't buying it. Something was definitely going on with Kyle…

…but he didn't have time to figure it out. He had to rehearse his lines and then meet Bebe at Harbucks at the play. Yes, you read correctly. Kenny McCormick had an actual date with Bebe Stevens. No more groping in the broom closet. They could go out publicly and then Kenny could grope her whenever he wanted.

As Kenny began home, Kyle wheeled himself to Stan's room in the hospital.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Marsh. Can I have a minute?" Kyle asked Stan's parents. They nodded and exited the room.

"Stan –"

"Kyle?" Stan croaked. At first, Kyle thought he had imagined it, but then Stan's fingers twitched and his eyes fluttered open. He spoke again, "Kyle, is that you?"

"COME QUICK! HE'S AWAKE!" Kyle bellowed and Stan flinched.

"Damn, Ky, don't be so loud," he muttered.

Randy, Sharon, Nurse Jackie, and Stan's doctor all rushed into the room. Sharon threw her arms around her son and very nearly suffocated him. Nurse Jackie had to practically drag her off him. She began to do tests on him and asked him lots of questions. Kyle waited patiently until he couldn't take it any more and interrupted her:

"Stan, who did this to you?"

Stan paused and then said a name that caused Kyle's stomach to knot up: "Trent Boyett."

"Oh, no, honey, you've got it all wrong," Sharon explained. "Trent is a victim, too. He –"

"He's faking," Kyle interrupted again.

"No, Kyle, Stan is just confused. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"Yes, I do, Mom! It was Trent Boyett," Stan insisted.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Randy suggested. Stan gaped at the both of them.

"You don't believe me! I'm you son! How can you believe dickhole Trent Boyett over me?"

"I think your parents are right, Stan," his doctor said. "You need to rest."

"He's been resting for almost two weeks!" Kyle cried.

"And _you,_" he turned to Kyle. "You cause more trouble than you're worth. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"No. I want to talk to him," Stan said firmly.

Randy, Sharon, and the doctor all looked like they wanted to object, but Nurse Jackie interjected: "Stan has been in a coma for ten days. Why not let him talk to Kyle for five minutes before he goes to sleep again?"

Sharon sighed. "Oh, _all right._ But five minutes is all you get! I mean it, Stanley!"

"Okay, fine!"

The four adults exited the room and left Kyle and Stan alone.

"Why does everyone think Trent Boyett is innocent? And did I hear my mom call him a victim? What the hell is _that_ about?" Stan asked.

"I'm not too sure, to be honest. My mom has kept me locked up in the house and I haven't heard any news. Kenny and Shelly –"

"Shelly? My sister? What's she got to do with anything?"

"– told me a bit about it, but you'll have to ask them. And don't interrupt me when I'm talking. You know I hate that," Kyle said.

Stan grinned. "You sound like my old, crotchety wife."

Kyle shot him a grin back "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I would, yeah," Stan agreed, looking surprised that Kyle was taking his joke so good-naturedly. "I'd wife the hell out of you."

Kyle smiled even wider and then shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair. Stan took notice of this.

"What's the matter? Aren't you comfortable?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me. How are you feeling, Mr. Comatose?" Kyle wondered.

"I'm good. I had the craziest dream, though. But I don't remember a lot of it…it's weird. Do you think that means anything?"

"No. I read somewhere that coma patients sometimes dream, but they usually forget a lot of the dream when they wake up."

"Oh yeah? When did you become an expert on comas?"

"I did a lot of research in the last ten days," Kyle admitted, shrugging. "It was my way of checking up on you. And besides, I was in a coma once before, too."

"Oh, that's right," Stan said, smiling. "You jumped off your roof to prove Cartman was a phony psychic. Hey, wait a minute! Why didn't _I_ get a face warmer?"

"Don't be _bitter,_" Kyle teased.

The jokes and small talk subsided quickly after that. Kyle blurted out, "I thought about what you said about wanting to kiss me and I've reached a decision."

"Well? What is it?" Stan asked eagerly. However, he didn't find out because his mother poked her head in at that moment and announced that his five minutes were up.

"Aw, come on, Mom! Can't I have a few more minutes?" Stan pleaded.

"_No,_ Stanley!"

"But this is _really_ important!"

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait a couple of hours. Besides, Kyle's mother is waiting outside to take him home."

"My mom is here?" Kyle asked, shocked

"Yes, and she's getting impatient. Hurry up, Kyle," Sharon said.

Kyle shot Stan an apologetic smile and rolled himself outside the room to meet his mother.

"_Mom!_ Kyle was going to tell me something really important!" Stan cried angrily.

"Nothing is more important than your health!"

"But –"

"No buts, Stanley. Get some sleep."

Stan tried to stay awake just to spite his mother, but his conversation with Kyle had made him forget how tired he really was. Within minutes, Stan Marsh was asleep.

* * *

Kyle left Hell's Pass and convinced his mother to let him go to Kenny's play. He forgot to buy a ticket, but everyone at school felt so bad for poor, crippled Kyle that he was allowed in for free. Since Stan was still in the hospital, Kyle sat by himself.

Halfway through the play, there was a ten minute intervention and Kenny came to visit Kyle during.

"How is Wendy doing with waking up Cartman?" Kyle asked.

"She's still working on him. Cartman would never make anything easy for Wendy, even if she was trying to save his ass," Kenny answered.

"Aren't you going to ask how _I_ did with Stan?"

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Did you manage to wake up your best friend up from a coma?"

"Yes."

"_What?_"

"Don't sound so surprised!" Kyle cried.

"What did – how – tell me everything!"

"There's nothing to tell! I, uh, _rolled_ into the room and he just woke up. Just like that," Kyle explained.

"What's he doing now?" Kenny inquired.

"Sleeping."

"_Again?_ Well, did he tell everyone that Trent Boyett was the one who attacked him?"

"Yeah, but no one believes him. What's up with Trent, anyway? Why does everyone think he's innocent? You still haven't told me," Kyle said.

Kenny opened his mouth to reply, but instead noticed Bebe hurriedly gesturing him over. "Uh I can't right now, Kyle. Bye!"

"Kenny, wait –"

He hurried over to Bebe, who promptly stomped on his foot. She looked furious.

"Now is _not_ the time to be chatting with your stupid friends! In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a _production!_" she hissed.

"But Stan woke up!"

"That's wonderful, but we go back on in five minutes and _you_ still haven't changed! _Move!_"

Bebe pushed him towards the changing rooms and Kenny went, grumbling about how he had better get extra sexy time for this.

* * *

"For God's sake, Cartman, _snap out of it!_" Wendy cried, shaking him.

"Oh, sweetie, don't do that. You'll hurt him," Liane Cartman spoke up.

"Be quiet, will ya? We're working here!" Shelly snapped, waving her off.

"Now, _listen!_" Liane cried, making both Wendy and Shelly jump. "I am an adult and I will not be spoken to like that by two silly little girls! I'm going to have to ask you to leave. _Right now._"

Wendy and Shelly, shocked, left the room. They bickered all the way to the lobby when the nure at the front desk stopped them.

"Excuse me, ladies. Which one of you is Shelly Marsh?"

"I am," Shelly said.

"Your mother wanted me to tell you that your brother is awake. You can go up to see him, if you like," she said.

"Stan's awake?" Wendy cried, gleefully, and the two girls ran to his room. When they reached it, Stan looked exactly how they had left him.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Shelly asked. "Stan isn't awake!"

"He woke up an hour ago," her mother answered patiently. "He's sleeping now. The doctor wants him to get as much rest as he can before you both go to California with your father next week."

Sure enough, Stan grunted in his sleep and then rolled over.

"Well, did Stan tell you about Trent Boyett?" Shelly questioned.

"Yes, he said that Trent was the one who attacked him. Your poor brother is so confused," Sharon answered.

"He's telling the truth, Mom."

"Funny, Kyle seemed to think so, too," Randy said and then turned to his ex-wife, "Sharon, you don't think…"

"No…no, I'm sure Trent is a good kid," Sharon said, but she didn't sound convinced.

"A good kid who spent ten years in juvenile hall?" Shelly pointed out. She knew that Trent wasn't guilty of the crimes he had been jailed for, but she wasn't about to tell her parents this.

"Maybe we should have a talk with this Trent kid."

"Good idea. Shelly –?"

"I'll stay with Stan, Mom," Shelly agreed and watched her parents depart.

* * *

"You're a genius, Mom," I said for the hundredth time.

"Thank you, sweetie."

We were being held in protective custody at the police station and I was eating my way through a large plate of donuts.

It had all been my mom's idea. She came up with the story and taught me how to fake cry. I explained to the police my tragic story of how I told a psychotic inmate at juvie about my grudge against Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny, and the inmate took it into his own hands to make them pay. I began to "tear up" when I reached the part about me finding out about his actions too late and him turning on me when he realized I would betray him. Those dumbass cops bought every word of it.

My mom even paid an actor to pretend to be the psychopath we had invented. He's supposed to break into the station tomorrow afternoon.

* * *

"Fantastic show, everyone! You all did a _really_ good job!" Bebe congratulated after the play had finished. "Now, the next performance is tomorrow night, so I need you all to be here earlier so we can practice, maybe around three –"

"I can't," Clyde interrupted.

Bebe looked shocked that someone dared interrupt her. "Why not?" she snapped.

"I have a…thing tomorrow."

"Cancel it!"

"I can't! It's an acting thing! And I'm getting paid for it!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Clyde?" Kenny asked, intrigued.

"Some lady is paying me $200 to do some acting job for her tomorrow! She said it was really important and that I shouldn't…tell anyone…Oops. Anyway, I can't come tomorrow," Clyde explained.

"Clyde, see me after the pep talk," Bebe ordered and turned to the rest of the theatre department. She continued with her speech, but Kenny was no longer listening. He was watching Clyde suspiciously. When Bebe finished, she dismissed everyone else and turned to Clyde, Kenny cut her off.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of him," Kenny offered.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Positive. Go on home, Bebe."

"Oh, well, I'm not ready to go home _quite_ yet," Bebe said, flirtatiously. "I, uh, forgot my purse in the broom closet. Maybe you could help me look for it when you're done here, Ken."

"Sure!" Kenny agreed and Bebe walked away. Clyde snorted.

"Why the hell did she leave her purse in the broom closet?"

"Shut up, Clyde." Kenny put his arm around Clyde's shoulders and guided him out of the auditorium. "Now, tell me a little bit about his acting job."

* * *

Kyle wanted to go back to the hospital after the play was over, but his mom wouldn't let him.

"Stan's mother is right! He needs lots of rest and I won't have you disturbing him!"

"But –"

"You can go tomorrow!"

Kyle grumbled the whole way home. He wanted to sneak out, but sneaking out was much easier when he didn't require a wheelchair. So, instead, he laid awake that night, wondering if Stan was awake yet or if he had his phone on him. Just as Kyle was dozing, his phone went off.

Sleepily, he scrambled for his iPhone, but the text was from Kenny, not Stan:

_I've got proof. Clyde n me r going 2 the police station now. Tell Shelly._

_Tell Shelly what? What does Clyde have to do with anything? What's going on?_ Kyle thought. He dialed Kenny's number and held the phone up to his ear, waiting. Kenny picked up on the third ring.

"I need you to explain what the hell is going on," Kyle said and Kenny did. When he finished, Kyle hung up and forwarded the text to Stan, since he didn't have Shelly's number. He added "_This is from Kenny_" at the bottom and hit send.

* * *

Stan's phone went off. Shelly, who was now by herself after Wendy went home, looked up from her magazine and eyed the phone curiously. She knew she shouldn't look at the message, but her curiosity got the best of her.

"Besides," she said aloud, "it could be from Mom and Dad."

Shelly reached across Stan, who was still deep in slumber, and gingerly picked up his phone. She glanced at the screen and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was from Stan's stupid friend, Kyle. Nobody important. She clicked on the message, anyway (why the hell not, right?) and nearly dropped her brother's phone in shock.

She was tempted to bolt from the room and meet Kenny at the police station, but resisted the urge. She had abandoned Stan once and she wasn't going to do it again. Shelly put the phone back where she found it and wondered what was happening at the police station.

* * *

My mother and I both gasped when we saw who walked into our private room. I kept my eyes on Kenny McCormick, one of the little shits who stole my childhood. What was he doing here?" My heart started to pound. He didn't know the truth…he couldn't.

My mom was glaring at the boy next to Kenny, with brown hair and boyish good looks. "You!" she hissed. "You're not supposed to come until tomorrow, you idiot!"

A police officer followed them and said, "Well, I've received some interesting news."

"They're liars! All of them!" my mother shrieked.

"I'm not so sure about that, Mrs. Boyett. Mr. Donovan here," he gestured to Clyde, "has admitted that he agreed to play the part of Trent's psychotic inmate because you offered him $200. Stan Marsh's parents are waiting outside and have informed me that their son woke up from his coma and has told them that _you_ were the one who attacked him. I'm sure Eric Cartman will tell us the same thing when he returns to a healthy state of mind."

My mom was trembling now, close to tears. I continued to glare at Kenny. I asked, "Why is he here?"

"Mr. McCormick was the one who figured out that your story was a lie. You have him to thank for more years in prison."

"Congratulations," I said coolly.

Kenny was glaring back at me now. "Stan and Kyle and Cartman – they all could've died, you asshole."

"But they didn't," I pointed out.

"Kyle might never walk again. Cartman might have brain damage."

"Yeah…" I said slowly. "Bad thing might happen to them. I _will_ go back to jail."

"You deserve it," Kenny said quickly.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Did I deserve it the last two times?"

Kenny stared at me and guilt flashed across his face. Finally, he said, "You deserve it this time."

"What are you two talking about?" the policeman asked.

"Him!" my mom shrieked, pointing at Kenny. "Him and his stupid little friends got my baby put in jail _twice_ for things he didn't do!"

"Is there any proof of that?"

"No," I said, still staring at Kenny. "Not unless someone confesses."

Kenny watched as the policeman put handcuffs on me and led me away. He wanted to say something, feeling a twinge of guilt, but then he remembered his three friends on long roads to recovery. He thought of Stan, Kyle, and Cartman, who wouldn't have to recover at all if it wasn't for Trent Boyett. He kept his mouth shut.

* * *

Trent Boyett was back in prison. Kyle kissed Stan goodbye and then watched him get in the back of his dad's car and head to the airport. Wendy, upset with Stan for breaking up with her for Kyle, is comforted by Cartman, awake and well, who invites her to come over and have some of his mother's butterscotch pudding. Kenny and Bebe, who are no longer confined to a broom closet, start making out where they can and get the label "That Couple Who Is Always Making Out". Shelly, no longer feeling guilt for what happened to her brother, has started being mean to Stan again. Clyde gave up acting after all the trouble it almost got him into and went back to football. Craig was grateful that Tweek was in the dark about his involvement with Trent and found himself relieved and almost happy when he found out Stan Marsh woke up from his coma. Randy and Sharon didn't get back together, but decided that this time, they were okay with it. Sheila found out what her son had really been doing at Jewish camp and threw one of her famous fits.

Everyone, more or less, was happy.

Except Trent Boyett.

THE END


End file.
